


Five Days

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Numbers is a repressed mofo, Wrench is not easily fooled though!, and a fuckin SNOB, fluffy fluffiness, wrenchers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrench is sent on a solo mission, and as much as Numbers loves him, he's only too glad to get some time to himself... or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintywrites/gifts).



> Filling a prompt from mintywrites. Hope you enjoy it, hon! :-)

Numbers wasn't supposed to have a partner, he'd made that perfectly clear on his first day with Fargo. When the boss had informed him he'd be working with the new deaf kid, there had been a fair amount of internal screaming on his part. But he'd sucked it up, and eventually came around to the idea - especially after it had dawned on him that Wrench wasn't likely to be very chatty.

He definitely wasn't supposed to _fuck_ his partner. One night they'd gotten snowed in while hiding out at a safe house, and they'd been stuck there for three days straight. All they'd had to prevent them from climbing up the walls was an impressive collection of booze and each other's company, a recipe for disaster. Numbers had opened a can of worms when his drink-addled brain had decided it was a really good idea to ask _Is it true what they say about redheads?_

And he most certainly wasn't supposed to _fall_ for his partner. But there he was, looking at Wrench smiling at him around a moutful of pancakes, and Numbers knew then that he was fucked.

Dating someone you're working with is a bad idea on a number of levels, especially for guys like them. The least of their worries is that they're seeing too much of each other, but that is what's eating Numbers the most. It's been seven months now, and in that time he's only been away from his partner for maybe a couple of weeks in total.

He had actually given up on romantic relationships a long time ago (this thing with Wrench had been an accident, more or less) and suddenly having this level of intimacy with someone again, after so long, feels unnatural. The arm around his shoulder as he watches TV, the signs of someone occupying the same small space that he does - a larger pair of boots, another toothbrush, a second set of silverware in the sink - it's all so alien to him.

He enjoys Wrench's company, sure. And yet, when Fargo sends his partner on a one-man job, Numbers can't help feeling like he can finally breathe.

 _See you in five days,_ Wrench signs and kisses him on the cheek.

There's a long, excruciating moment where he just hovers, waiting for something, searching Numbers' face for some kind of affirmation that he'll be missed.

 _Okay, good luck, bye,_ Numbers signs, and shoves him out the door.

 ---

** Day 1 **

**Time:** 9 AM

 **Estimated time until Wrench's return:** Who cares.

Numbers is not quite sure what to do with himself at first. Being alone in his apartment for the first time in weeks has sent a wave of relief washing over him. He is overwhelmed with the sense of freedom. But what to do with this freedom?

It feels like he should be having some sort of _Risky Business_ type moment here, that he should trash the place and hang around in his underwear, getting shitfaced. _I could do all that with Wrench, though,_ he thinks. And frankly, he's too much of a neat freak to trash his place. In fact, the very idea of his apartment ever looking anything short of spotless makes him feel like there's a swarm of ticks burrowed in under his skin.

\---

** Day 2 **

**Time:** 7 PM

 **Estimated time until Wrench's return:** Roughly 73 hrs. But who's counting?

Numbers doesn't really enjoy watching TV and figures he must have been high when he'd decided to buy one, but somehow it has become a couple's pastime for him and his partner.

While he himself prefers documentaries and cooking shows, all Wrench ever wants to watch is NASCAR and old Westerns. Not having to argue over what to watch is certainly a nice change. His shows eventually lose their appeal, though, once he realizes he doesn't have anyone to discuss them with - or rather, someone to listen to his rants.

He flips through the channels, nothing really grabbing his attention until he stumbles upon a re-run of America's Funniest Home Videos. Some dumb fuck has just jumped off a roof onto a trampoline, and the result is no great surprise.

 _This show is fucking dumb,_ he thinks to himself. _Wrench would laugh so hard at this trash._

Just as Bob Saget is delivering another one of his awful, _awful_ jokes, a text comes in on Numbers' phone.

'Miss me yet?'

'I'm actually getting used to not having you around. I have returned to my bachelor existence, a man within his own personal sphere. Couldn't be happier.'

'Okay, liar ;-) Love you!'

'Yeah, yeah.'

\---

** Day 3 **

**Time:**  8 PM

 **Estimated time until Wrench's return:** 48 hrs. Or whatever.

Cooking without Wrench butting in, saying it's "too fancy" or "fucking pretentious", is a blessing. Having someone hang over your shoulder and scrutinize your every move, while they themselves have not the faintest idea of how to cook anything more complicated than a can of baked beans, is the most infuriating thing Numbers can think of. And Wrench does this  _all the time._

His dinner plan for the evening is duck confit cassoulet with a side of roasted potatoes and kale with homemade garlic butter. Just the idea of it had made his mouth water. But when he finally sits down to enjoy this painstakingly crafted meal, he finds that it all tastes bland and boring.

_I've used plenty of pepper, butter, garlic, salt, herbs... so what's missing?_

He looks over at the empty seat at the opposite side of the dinner table, and he knows what's missing.

\---

** Day 4 **

**Time:**  3 PM

 **Estimated time until Wrench's return:** 29 hrs

Numbers wakes up late, having singlehandedly polished off last night's bottle of pinot, plus the remnants of a Laphroaigh that had started beckoning him towards the end of the evening. The sudden realization that he's been hugging a pillow all night fills him to the brim with shame.

He's not surprised to find that he's sporting a world class boner; being hungover tends to do that to him, for some reason. It usually makes him quite sensitive, too - although not so today, apparently. He tries and tries, but it seems he's gotten so accustomed to having Wrench's big strong hands around his cock that his own hand simply won't do anymore.

'When are you coming home?' he types, in a moment of arousal-fuelled despair.

Hours pass, and Numbers is starting to get genuinely worried when he finally receives a reply.

'Why, you miss me?'

'Don't flatter yourself. I just want your enormous dick inside me.'

'Wow, you sure know how to make a guy feel like shit and really horny at the same time :-( ;-)'

'Oh, brother. Just come home soon, okay?'

'I'm on my way, you emotionally repressed little shit. Kiss'

\---

** Day 5 **

**Time:**  2 PM

 **Estimated time until Wrench's return:** Too fucking long!

He decides to sleep in again this morning, just to pass the time, but there are only so many hours a man can stay unconscious for. Eventually he is forced to greet the day, however excruciating the hours counting up to his partner's return will be.

Numbers wants to recreate the dinner from the other day; he _knows_ it was good, it just didn't feel right without someone there to marvel at his culinary skills. It might not be as good this time around, though. After it's been rubbed with salt and herbs, the duck needs to sit for quite a while in order to reach optimal savouriness. But then, Wrench will probably enjoy it either way. _The guy likes McDonald's hamburgers, for fuck's sake._

'How far away are you?' Numbers texts.

'Six hours, give or take. Just pulled up at a rest stop outside Winona. Who's a needy boy?? ;-)'

'Dream on. I'm just wondering when I should pop the bird in the oven.'

'Oh, am I getting bird upon my return? Fancy. What kind of bird?'

'Duck confit cassoulet.'

'I have no clue what that is, but I will say this: you spoil me. You sure you don't miss me at all?'

'Just get your ass in the car and drive home, dickbag.'

'Will do, babycakes ;-)'

'If you ever call me that again, Wrench confit will be next on the menu.'

'Ouch! Duly noted, Dr. Lecter.'

Numbers has never in his entire life had six hours go by so slowly. He puts the duck in the oven, and from there it's a matter of restlessly pacing around the apartment until it gets to that time when he should start preparing the sides. He takes a long shower and grooms himself meticulously while trying to convince himself that no, it's not because he wants to look and smell good for his partner. _No, Sir. I just like feeling neat and clean, is all._

The sixth hour comes and goes, then the seventh, and Wrench still hasn't knocked on the door. _Not that he would,_ Numbers thinks. _He'll barge in like he always does, dragging piles of snow and dirt all over my hardwood floors with those big ugly cowboy boots of his._

He starts typing up another needy text inquiring about his partner's whereabouts, but he changes his mind and deletes it. _Motherfucker's probably stalling, just to torment me._

'The sides are getting cold, asshole! I guess I'm just gonna eat that delicious duck all to myself,' Numbers types with a diabolical smirk on his face.

Just then, the door flies open and a snow-covered Wrench appears in the doorway.

 _Sorry I'm late,_ he signs as he stomps the snow off his boots. _The weather is shit._

Numbers looks out the window. His partner wasn't joking; it's like Siberia out there. He must have been too preoccupied with not being needy to take notice.

 _Welcome back,_ Numbers signs with a nod. _Take a seat._

 _Aren't you going to give me a hug?_ Wrench asks, throwing his arms out by way of an invitation.

Making a big show of rolling his eyes, Numbers shuffles over and lets his partner wrap his big, bear-like arms around him. He's got to admit, it does feel nice.

"It's been fucking boring here without you," Numbers mumbles into his partner's shoulder. "I missed you so much."

Wrench feels that and finally releases him, looking Numbers dead in the eye. _What did you say?_ he asks.

_I said the food is getting cold._

_Sure you did,_ Wrench signs with a knowing smile on his face. _I missed you, too._


End file.
